Jackrodesiac
by Reichenbach
Summary: There's just something about Jack...you miss him when he's gone. A lot.


Title: Jack-rodesiac

Author: moi

Rating: R (little smutty, little language-y)

Characters/Relationships: Rose/Ten, Ianto/Owen, Ianto/Gwen, Gwen/Toshiko, Toshiko/Owen

Spoilers: All of TW/DW to date

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned, the Doctor would have fixed Rose's TARDIS long ago.

Archive: Feel free, just drop me a line so I know (my ego is like that)

Beta: Beta'd by the long-suffering Rosesbud. Encouragement provided by darkbunnyrabbit

A/N: My husband thinks I'm obsessed. I'm not. It's just... funny.

Summary: There's just something about Jack...

The Doctor let out a bitter laugh. "In a way, he did. Look it's not my fault that he's a nexus of sexual energy and his bedroom was some kind of battery for it, storing up all of his unused sexual potential like memory crystals."

Two years ago…

Rose Tyler leaned with her arms folded against one of the railings in the TARDIS control room. "Yeah, right. Go on, tell me another one."

Unable to face her, the Doctor pushed his glasses up on his nose, then bent over the dematerialisation mechanism, fiddling with the edge of the cover plate, which was coming loose from the console–again. "I'm telling you the truth. It was a one-off."

Rolling her eyes, Rose shook her head. "Except it happened thirty-seven times. On thirty-seven different occasions."

The Doctor's hand slipped off the cover plate, and he sliced his index finger on the corner of the molded metal. "Ouch." Ramming his bleeding finger into his mouth, he dared to turn toward her, perhaps for sympathy. He'd just been maimed, after all. By his own ship. And it got him out of explaining why something could happen that many times and still, technically, be a one-off.

Rose was just glaring at him, entirely unimpressed. "Thirty-seven times, Doctor. Since you've regenerated. This doesn't include the twenty-two times after Jack joined the ship, or the thirteen times that Jack joined US. So, go on and tell me it's a one-off."

It must have been the pain in his finger. That's why all the blood was rushing to his face. Only explanation. "And notice how it hasn't happened since the TARDIS flushed Jack's room?

Growling in frustration, Rose leapt from the jump chair, throwing her hands in the air. "Exactly! That's what I'm talking about! I have certain needs that aren't being met!"

XYZ

Yesterday…

Jack had been gone for three weeks. No one had detected even the faintest trace of him, or had the slightest clue where he'd gotten off to. The CCTV for the base at the time of what they were calling 'the abduction' had been mysteriously erased, as if it had been hit with an EMP or some other such technology. The creepy hand in a jar was gone, Jack's coat was gone, everything had been a mess again, and they had no leads.

That being said, there was very little for Torchwood Three to do, other than get back to work. Setting the office aright one more time, they worked on upgrading security and running down the usual rift-raff (another clever name, courtesy of Ianto) and generally got back to things.

Gwen had decided to cross reference old missing persons files with old Torchwood cases to see how many of them could be resolved in a manner that didn't jeopardise the continued ignorance of the public to Torchwood's activities but gave resolution to the family members still waiting word on loved ones. It was something Jack probably would have shot down, arguing that it would be too messy and involved emotionally, not to mention the team having 'real' work to do.

Owen had just snorted, informed her that she was a bleeding heart and left her to it.

Toshiko was revising a few of her image monitoring programs and was compiling a new translator to incorporate the two new languages they'd encountered in the last six months. Again, it was something of only marginal usefulness that Owen merely tolerated. If he had some plan or project for the team…well, that'd mean coming up with a plan and behaving as someone would behave if they were in-charge.

Ianto was off doing whatever the hell it was Ianto did on a normal day-to-day basis. Probably only Jack knew for sure. Owen didn't ask, Ianto didn't volunteer. It was safer and happier that way.

Owen…

Well, in between catching up on paperwork and trying to make it look like he was being in charge, without actually being in charge, he did a bit of housekeeping with the records. It was about then that he'd realised he'd not done yearly physicals on the staff in, oh, a year and a half.

Well, it was something to do. Not that he enjoyed interacting with actual living patients, but he did make sacrifices for his job.

Ianto was his first victim. It was a strategic move more than anything else; if he started with either of the ladies, he'd be accused of harassment or something. Who the hell knew. Toshiko was looking at him funny sometimes and every time he stood too close to Gwen she got uncomfortable and backed off. He knew they were over–but did she have to be so awkward around him suddenly? And it wasn't a good awkwardness, like being awkward because she really did want him and was trying to make a clean break. Mostly it seemed like she was somehow embarrassed that she'd ever barred all for him. Like she'd woken up one day and suddenly recognised just how repulsive of a creature he was.

Drawing the last bit of blood, Owen slapped on a pressure bandage and glanced at his checklist. "Lets see–bla, bla, bla…did that, did that. That I don't have to do till next year. I think we're good." He looked up at the man sitting on the autopsy table in the ugly white hospital gown.

Instead of hopping off and scampering back into his clothes, Ianto remained seated, like he had something on his mind.

Sighing, Owen rolled his eyes. He hoped to God that Ianto didn't want to use him like a psychologist or something touchy-feely like that. Or that Ianto didn't have an STD or something he wanted to tell the class about. "What is it?"

Looking down at the palm of his hands, the other man's lip twitched. "Have you noticed that things have been…a little weird since Jack's been gone?"

Clicking his pen repeatedly, Owen felt something uncomfortable in his stomach twisting around. He made a few notes on his pad, doodles really, so he wouldn't have to answer. But the silence drew on, and he finally feltcompelled to fill it. "Weird in what way? I killed my boss, who was later killed again by Satan and then was abducted right out of our secret underground headquarters, and now the rift is going crazy? No, Ianto, it's situation normal. All fucked up."

Ianto slid off the table, bare feet pressing against the cold tile floor. "That's not what I meant. I mean, with Jack…" he took a deep breath. "This is a little embarrassing."

Oh great, Ianto WAS going to confess to having an STD. "What?" Oh wait, bedside manner. He was supposed to be supportive and shit. "I mean, you can trust me. Whatever it is."

A blush rose to Ianto's cheeks. "Alright. Look, there's no way to just say this, so I'm going to just do it. Consider this…scientific inquiry." His hands clasped Owen's arms, not hard–the fingers weren't digging into him or anything, just firmly enough that he wouldn't move. Then with only a moment's hesitation, he planted one, complete with tongue. Of course, he'd had no indication of any sort up until this moment that Ianto had a thing for him. As far as weird and awkward things went, he could handle this way easier than Ianto telling him a sad tale about a one night stand and Gonorrhoea.

It wasn't a bad kiss, Owen had to admit. Mechanically, it was all there and working. Maybe it was him that wasn't into it. That was a reasonable thought, he wasn't really into Ianto. Actually–he really hadn't been into anybody or anything since Jack left. Misplaced guilt or something.

So he decided to at least put some effort into it. He pressed his hand to the small of Ianto's back, which was exposed by the opening in the back of the gown. The muscles were firm beneath the soft, supple skin. In curiosity, his tongue slid past Ianto's cool lips, and his hand migrated further south. The texture of Ianto's arse was quite nice, actually. That peculiar combination of muscle and flesh.

The two pulled away from each other a moment later, each baring the same quizzical look. "And how was your experiment?" Owen asked finally, leaning against the autopsy table, a tad breathless.

There was something akin to concern flittering behind the other man's blue eyes as he brushed his long fingers over his lips "First, tell me, honestly–how was it for you?"

Honestly? Owen was so bad at being honest. He just–didn't do it well. Fingers behind his back, he gripped the edge of the table with both hands, shifting his weight back and forth a bit in indecision. "Honestly?"

Ianto nodded. "Honestly. This is very important."

Oh hell. Perhaps he should consider this…practice in learning couth. "Ok. I'm not sayin' you're not fit or anything. Because you're quite fit. And it was a good kiss. If I was into you, I'd be, well, very, very into you."

Impassive, Ianto nodded, then chewed on his cheek thoughtfully. "Interesting. How do you feel about blokes in general?"

Drawing in a deep breath and raising a finger, Owen was caught for a moment between an indignant declaration that he wasn't a homophobe or something, but he stopped, looking at his nail for a moment, observing the broken, chewed-at cuticle. He really had to stop that. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "I think I'm just not into blokes."

Brow furrowing, he folded his arms over his lab coat. This was a perplexing situation. "Not that I haven't been with blokes. But–it's like, plain M&M's or peanut M&M's. I've eaten 'em, I'm not opposed to 'em, I just like the plain M&M's better. And given the choice, I'm always going to go with plain."

Nodding, Ianto processed this information. "Oddly, I find myself having similar changes in appetite as of late."

Picking up his pen, Owen bit the end of it, trying to trace back the change in attitude. "Alright. I have a few thoughts on the matter. But go on, tell me your opinion.

XYZ

Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) both Toshiko and Gwen looked at them like they were crazy, when they explained the experiment they'd like the two women to participate in. The hub buzzed around them as they stood in the middle, at an impasse.

They were striking an identical pose, arms crossed over their chests. Tosh adjusted her glasses, and then looked over the rim at the two men. "Let me get this right. You want us to snog, and you're going to 'observe?'

Teeth grinding, Gwen finally put in her thoughts on the matter. "I know its quiet here, maybe a bit boring. But this is what you two want to get up to? Now, Owen I can see. He's a pervert. But you, Ianto?" Her hands came to rest on her hips, demanding some sort of explanation.

Clasping his hands in his front, Ianto, now impeccably dressed in his normal attire; a dark blue suit with a burgundy tie, bounced upon his feet once. "We have a theory we'd like to put to the test."

He proceeded to explain the nature of the experiment, and the types of controls the two men had devised.

After the first phase, Ianto wrote down the women's subjective observations while Owen rubbed his chin, mulling over the information they'd been presented with. It had been quite a good kiss; Toshiko had been much more at ease with the technical aspects of the experiment, as she'd had far more hot girl-on-girl action than Gwen could admit to, and had gotten both hands up her partner's shirt over the course of the study. They'd clocked in at three minutes and twenty-five seconds, Ianto had determined with his stopwatch, belatedly realising he should have employed a similar test with Owen.

The conclusion was 'not unpleasant, but "meh,"' if that could be considered a conclusion.

For the sake of a control, Ianto and Gwen had a perfectly lovely three minute snog, observed by the other two Torchwood members. After details were recorded, Toshiko managed a full four minutes with Owen. Her hands had certainly slipped beneath his jeans, and there'd been some groping going on before Ianto had broken up the experiment, stating that, subjectively, enough data had been collected. However, if the two were seeking a more objective resolution to the experiment, Jack's office was more than private enough.

The two looked at each other, seriously considering it. "Shit. I might take you up on that," Owen muttered. "I mean, it isn't like I've had so much as a decent feel-up in a month and a half."

Surprisingly, Toshiko did not object. Before Owen began to drag her toward the metal steps leading to Jack's abandoned hide-away, he stopped in his tracks. Wagging his finger, he searched around for his pen, and then swiped the notepad from Toshiko's desk. "Wait. Ianto," he flipped to the third page of notes. "Remember when we were talking down in the lab? And you explained that you and Jack only ever did it in his office, right?"

Another blush darkened the young man's cheeks. It wasn't something he really cared to discuss with the group. "Well, except for that one time."

Owen looked up from the notepad, nodding. "In the morgue. Right after Jack came back to life. Alright ok. I want to take a look at Jack's office. That's where he spent most of his time, right? Practically lived in there–it wasn't like he ever left the hub and went 'home' at night or anything. I'm getting an idea." Sliding past the workstation and two chairs that didn't belong over there, Owen gestured for Ianto to follow him. "I'm going to need you for this."

XYZ

Owen's back was being stabbed by the edge of a bookshelf in the dimly lit office, but it was a very secondary concern. Ianto's breath was hot against his neck, and the other man smelled like spice and coffee, which was making him hot and bothered. Quite so. And he as more hot and bothered than he'd been in weeks. Since Jack disappeared, in fact.

When the other man's hand wrapped around the button of his jeans, twisting the waistband around his hips in a way that was painful, and kind of nice, Owen knew he'd seen enough. Breathing heavily with want, he put a hand on Ianto's chest and pushed him away. "That's good," he breathed. "That's enough."

Eyes still half-closed and lips flushed with lust, Ianto stepped backward, trying to control the erratic rise and fall of his chest. "That's really weird."

Running a hand through his hair, Owen licked his lips. "Agreed. But I think I'm really close to figuring this all out. I want to run some tests in here. And I've still got the body bag we used on Jack. And I'm sure his clothes are still in an evidence bag down there."

Ianto nodded, running his hands down the front of his suit, pushing out all of the wrinkles he'd incurred. He straightened his tie and took a few more cleansing breaths, trying to push away the remainder of what had infected both men. "It's still really weird. What're the odds?"

Laughing, the other man wandered toward the door. "Ianto–our boss was killed twice in one day, and lived to tell the tale. The fact that Jack may very well be a walking aphrodisiac seems a hell of a lot less weird."

XYZ

Two Years Ago…

The Doctor stood outside Rose's bedroom, his hand poised above the door to knock. He'd been frozen like that for a few minutes, not sure what to say, once she opened the door.

Finally, he decided to just take the plunge. Human politeness aside, he twisted the door knob and yanked the door open. Stepping into the room, he clasped his hands behind his back, prepared to explain that even though something happens seventy-six times, it can still be a one-off.

Seeing her sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped and that forlorn look in her eyes, he stopped in his tracks. Didn't she know how he felt? He'd rather poke out his own eyeballs than hurt her. He just…wasn't compatible. Not in the way she wanted.

He despised himself, and he despised the one-off. Mostly he now despised having flushed Jack's room from the TARDIS.

Letting out a depressed sigh, she met his eyes.

Hers were glassy and round, and they made him want to kick himself to death. If you could even do that. If there was a way–he'd find it. "Rose–I'm sorry," he reiterated for the fifth time in the last hour. "I am. Really."

A sad, tired smile slid across her lips. "But you're asexual. Right. I know."

Emotionally exhausted from going around in circles all day with a sexually frustrated companion, he plopped down on the bed beside her, giving her a one-armed hug. "My people. We just don't…you know."

She put her head on his shoulder. "But somehow we managed to. A LOT."

Resting his head on hers, the Doctor let out a breath. "And it never occurred to you that this only happened in or near Jack's bedroom?"

Leaning tiredly against him, she gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know. I just figured…maybe he rubbed off on you."

The Doctor let out a bitter laugh. "In a way, he did. Look it's not my fault that he's a nexus of sexual energy and his bedroom was some kind of battery for it, storing up all of his unused sexual potential like memory crystals."

Her fingers laced through his. "It's been, like, a month. I'm dying here. Just so you know."

Rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, the Doctor kissed her forehead. "And I'd make it better, if I could.

She was quiet for a long time, then bit her lip, pondering something "So…" she began with a small embarrassed smile that turned into a full-on, patented Rose Tyler grin, complete with the tongue-touching-the-teeth thing that he found so difficult to resist. "What're the odds of us retracing our steps, and finding Jack's old room, out there in the Vortex?"

THE END.


End file.
